


Cold Hands, Warm Heart

by mattsloved1



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 04:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattsloved1/pseuds/mattsloved1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a long time John never understood why he couldn't seem to feel completely warm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Hands, Warm Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ennui enigma](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ennui+enigma).



> This piece is for Ennui Enigma's birthday which is...today! :-)
> 
> A big thanks to MapleleafCameo and Ariane DeVere. Two ladies who were lovely enough to look through this piece despite their busy schedules.
> 
> I do not own therefore I do not profit.

For a long time John never understood why he couldn't seem to feel completely warm.

Even as a child he had needed two layers of clothing when other children only wore one. Every button done up to the chin and cuffs pulled down to cover his small hands. Two pairs of socks were always wrapped around his tiny toes and his shoes and coat were worn indoors nearly as often as outside.

In his parents' house he would bundle himself in layers of blankets on top of his bed, while his mother and father argued below. Harry could be heard screeching for them to stop. The sound of a bottle hitting a wall would have the young boy pulling the covers tight around his body as he shivered.

When he had the good fortune of spending time at his grandparents' home, John would sit with his Nan by the fire. He would listen to her stories, his growing limbs pleasantly close to the flames as she knitted. There John would feel the heat of the fire and strip to only t-shirt and jeans. It was his Nan's knitting that filled his drawers with jumpers.

After his father died, John's mother worked double shifts to keep food on the table. Without a parent around, a now seventeen-year-old Harry started following in her father's footsteps. Out with friends at all hours, John's sister only slept in her own bed three nights of the week. Not wanting to be alone, John chose to spend most of his teen years at his grandparents'.

Years spent training to become a doctor found John with friends who held common interests, and hours filled with learning how to heal the sick and injured. With his charming personality and winning smile, John never had much difficulty finding a girl to warm his bed. Yet despite finding a niche within his adopted community, the young doctor-in-training still felt cool even on a warm day.

With medical books at his fingertips he looked to find the cause. Regardless of his thorough research he was left with no answers. No anaemia, no circulation problems, nothing that made sense. His classmates had no helpful information and John soon shrugged his shoulders, pushed the mystery to the back of his mind and studied for exams.

When John lost his mum and Nan he decided to join the army. Despite the daily health risks, John appreciated the danger. He felt he had a purpose and was part of something bigger. If he wasn't warm enough wearing his uniform and carrying his gear each day then the Afghanistan temperatures in July and August made it impossible to feel anything but heat.

Then a bullet found his left shoulder and, as shock set in, John felt the cold once more.

With very little to call his own, John brought his few boxes to a tiny London bedsit. He had one short visit with Harry, one that consisted of his drunken sister blaming Clara for their divorce and pushing a phone she no longer wanted into his hand as he left. Coat collar turned up, John limped down the road. Weeks of nothing passed until one fateful afternoon John ran into an old schoolmate and everything changed.

John realised immediately that living with Sherlock Holmes would be nothing like he had ever experienced in his life. Cases, criminals and brushes with 'the British government' meant life was far from dull. And while he may have lost his tremor and psychosomatic limp, John once again gained purpose and the excitement he needed in his life.

The flat's temperature wasn't kept any higher than his old bedsit's had been, yet John found himself wearing single layers more often. There was a comfort to his new home he couldn't remember feeling since he'd last visited his Nan's. Of course there were still times when he dressed warmer but it was usually when he believed he would soon be pulled abruptly from the flat. When that happened he had to be ready for anything and, if they found themselves in a chase, John could easily leave his coat open.

Then there was 'The Fall' and the warmth John had enjoyed fled once more. By the time he was able to move back into 221B Baker Street, four months had passed. No matter the amount of clothing he felt chilled from the inside out. John tried to move on and even dated the perfect Mary Morstan, but broke things off in fairness to her. Who wanted to spend their life with a man who was frozen?

Two years later, John opened his door to find an exhausted and scraggly Sherlock Holmes on the other side. He felt heat rush through his body before dropping to the floor in a dead faint. Coming to, he punched the ghostlike figure leaning over him and winced at the pain in his hand. Realising it wasn't a dream John grabbed Sherlock's collar and pulled him into a tight embrace. Despite the years of separation, warmth spread from John's heart and flowed through his veins.

Life fell back into a routine the two men had shared before but there was something new. Looks were exchanged and unspoken words shared. The night John woke to find Sherlock sitting on his bed, watching him sleep, he reached out his hand and pulled the genius under the blankets and duvet. Their kisses were tentative to start but as hands began to wander, breathing was considered boring except when absolutely necessary.

Before too long covers were kicked to the floor and clothing soon followed. It was amazing to John how he could feel heat radiating beneath his skin. As Sherlock moved inside of him, his lean torso against John's back and their fingers intertwined, the doctor had a sudden revelation.

Growing up the only place he had truly felt at home was when visiting his grandparents. The army had become a family and home he had needed once they were gone. And Sherlock? John was convinced a part of him had recognised that Sherlock was John's new home even before he had shot the cabbie.

Minutes later, breath slowly returning to normal, John let Sherlock tangle their limbs together and knew he would never be truly cold again.


End file.
